


Stupid Decision, Stupid Mistake

by suikalopolis



Series: that hetashock au verse which seriously needs a name [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bioshock infinite - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suikalopolis/pseuds/suikalopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the first two times they'd met, Abel couldn't really give two shits about those two circus freaks and their perplexing vernaculars.  But when the third meeting rolls by, a few simple observations come to light and it's at that point Abel apparently makes his first mistake without realising it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid Decision, Stupid Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I cringe because gosh I couldn’t help it. When bestie plays Bioshock Infinite, I just nedpan’ed it. I’m sorry and yet I’m not sorry because freaking plotlines man. Plus, I think the idea of fruk being the Luteces is really cool. Though inspired by Bioshock Infinite, I do have my own slightly original ideas which have been integrated into this little AU of mine so a lot of changes ahoy. That said, I might continue this as a series of interconnected oneshots because I don’t think I can get around to making an actual multi-chapter fic (I’m not that talented enough, im gomen). I might change my mind though. Hit me up with comments if you’re interested.
> 
> Quick note, Netherland’s surname ‘Offermans’ loosely means (I think) ‘money or offer collector’, specifically like those found in church. I personally find it amusing since it kind of parallels his character in this AU. Also, this fic does have some minor religious references.

“Come here, my dear. Look. See there? He’s searching.”

“Huh. Searching will get him nowhere.”

“Should we assist?”

“Would the term still be called assist even if he is clearly not looking for assistance or if he doesn’t even know he requires assisting?”

“I suspect that it will probably still be the same.”

“Hmph. Debatable that is.”

Abel stops pacing and he glances over to see a familiar pair of smartly-suited gentlemen who were observing them.

_How the hell?_

Abel glowers at them, hoping they would draw the conclusion that he was not keen on striking up a conversation.  He’s had enough of their mind games and silly riddles, and there was no way he was going to let them step any closer to Honda.  The last thing he wants was for Honda’s head to be filled with fabricated realities.  He reloads his shotgun slowly, keeping his eyes trained on them as he patiently waits for his _charge_ – not companion, never companion – feeling reassured to hear the quick light steps the young man makes as he scours the area for anything useful.  From the corner of his eye, Abel detects a movement from the two gentlemen and he cocks his gun towards them, scowling.

“Oh he sees us,” observes the one with the long hair.

“And yet he does not want to see us,” supplies the one with the thick eyebrows. “I see he doesn’t look well pleased. I reckon it’s because you’ve doused yourself in that shit-”

“-eau de toilette, my dear. It’s a beautiful scent. No. 25.  Not something you can easily get hold of, especially in times like this.”

“You’re such a tart, you know that? Wasting our time and energy just for a tiny bottle of piss water you’d only call perfume. Haven’t I spoilt you enough already?”

Long Hair smiles. “Not any more than you can possibly imagine.  Why, being able to remain by your side like this is delightfully-”

“-disgusting. You cannot imagine just how much I really–”

“-adore those beautiful eyes of yours. Why, if we weren’t out and exposed like this I would’ve love to–”

“-beat the fucking shit out of you.”

“Oi,” Abel interjects.

“He speaks,” Long Hair beams.

“And about time really,” Thick Brows frowns. “I’d have thought fighting against an army would have done him in already. Seems like delivering the Apple really does drive him forward.”

“Or rather, protecting the Apple.”

“Wouldn’t his job already entitle both?”

“Yes but his actions seem to run deep for someone who is simply carrying out a job of stealing the Apple of Eden.”

“Oi.” Abel takes one step forward, only to watch in bewilderment as the pair continue conversing as if _he_ wasn’t there in the first place.

“Do you reckon there is a possibility of a something blooming out of all of this?” Long Hair asks, shifting his interest onto his partner.

“I highly doubt it,” comments Thick Brows airily. “From extensive observance as a third party, the only things which interests him are money and his sister-”

“-whom the Apple seems to bear some form of resemblance to. Though what form remains the question.”

“Yes. That could only explain the brashness of his actions.”

“Oi,” Abel calls out in a surprisingly loud voice.  He frowns at how much it echoes but is glad nevertheless to find that he has won the attention from both men who have turned towards him and were now watching him in expectancy. “What is it you clowns want?”

“Rude,” snorts Thick Brows. “And here to think he would have at least the decency to learn our names by now.”

“Oh dear. Have we not introduced ourselves to the good sir?” inquires Long Hair.

“Well I’ll be dischuffed if he’s already forgotten. We’d only just met up a while ago.”

“Hey,” Abel interjects once more, miffed to see how out of sync they were to him.  And to think they were both learned people in the first place.  Fucking pretentious asshats.  “If it’s Honda you want, ‘fraid you’ll have to go through me.  I won’t hand him over to you rats that easily.”

“The Apple?” Long Hair looks genuinely confused at this and he shakes his head. “Oh no, no, Mister Offermans, let us be clear that we have no direct interest in your business.”

“The hell’s that suppose to mean?” Abel asks.

“We just think you should know that you two are a wonderful match.”

Abel stares at them and his grip almost slips from his gun because _what the actual fuck-_

“ _We_ would be erroneous,” Thick Brows then huffs. “It’s _he_ who thinks you two should fuck because honestly you can bloody well slice the sexual tension between you two with a knife–” Abel’s mouth tightens at this and glances behind him to make sure Honda wasn’t eavesdropping on this. “-Conversely, _I_ think you should sort your shit out first before you go on making stupid mistakes which you would regret for the rest of your sodding life.”

“What mistakes?” asks Abel, his gaze hardening.

“Your mistakes,” states Thick Brows simply.

“What are they?”

“Who do you think I am? Jesus? Well _I_ don’t know, do I? You’re the leading man of this story so they’re yours to make exclusively. Only you would know what they would be.  At least I’d hope so.”

“And what makes you think I make mistakes?” Abel retorts, feeling a familiar and uncomfortable twinge grow in his breast.  He can’t help but think of his past mistakes now, the biblical scales of them – _god fuck Anri, Anri, I’m so fucking sorry_ – of how they had fucked his life up and yet opened so many opportunities, so many jobs – all of which he had turned down.  All except for this one.  This obscenely expensive job.  One which would guarantee a life of luxury and the chance to be repented from his mistakes.  His mistakes which had finally drove him here, to this very moment, to being the most wanted man in Eden who had done the impossible.  Fuck, even he thought it was impossible in the beginning and yet he had succeeded.  He had nicked the Apple from The Tree.  He was like Adam.  The alternate tainted Adam who, rather than take a bite, had stolen the Apple and he was now in the company of two snakes.  Well isn’t this all falling into place?

He glowers at them, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “I don’t do mistakes,” he asserts bitingly.

“Mhmm.  Right.  Sure. Offermans, I think you and I both know that to err is human. It’s choice that is the catalyst,” Thick Brows says.

“Choice? What choice?” Abel scoffs.

Thick Brows simply gives him a look. 

It seems that was the end of discussion but Abel was having none of that however.  He glances over to Long Hair, in the wild hope of extracting an answer or at least some amount of clarification from him about these choices, these mistakes, these misapprehended tensions because damn it, there was _nothing_ between him and Honda.

“You’re not saying shit, are you?” Abel remarks and of course it was fruitless.  As expected, he receives nothing except for that infuriatingly cheery smile from Long Hair. Threatening would have been something he would resort to by now (because it has always allowed him get his way) but the past two encounters with these kooks has ingrained the fact that they were unflappable, unsusceptible to elements of surprise _._   Hell, surprise was probably something which doesn’t exist in their dictionary.  It was frustrating to say the least.  More frustrating than holding Honda’s hand and leading him through the very basics of normal livelihood back when he had first ‘rescued’ the kid from The Tree a few weeks back.  Abel sighs heavily and in slight reluctance, he finally lowers his gun. “Look. It’s in my best interest to keep Honda alive and well in this delivery, so if this mistake, this _choice_ you’re talking about is–”

“A choice is all but a choice,” Long Hair pipes. “What comes after it is what determines whether or not it is or is not a mistake.”

Abel feels a headache starting to form and he grits his teeth, trying to get a grip of himself. “Hell, I know that but–”

“To assume that there is a mistake would only entail that there will be a mistake. Are you, Offermans, aware that you are about to make a mistake?” interjects Thick Brows.

“A grievous mistake?” Long Hair adds.

Abel snarls, “Damn it, I’m not gonna make any fucking–!”

“Mister Offermans?”

The three men look up and there stands Honda up on the balcony.  He was clutching a large purse of money close to his body, peering down at them in uncertainty.  From Abel’s angle, he could see how the wind was sweeping up the strands of his inky hair, causing it to flitter across the contours of his face and neck.  He could also see how the hem of his robes (kimomo? Kimobo?) flaps around his ankles, how the dark fabric is kicked up in the wind to reveal his boots and the silver of his pale legs.  Abel grunts in affirmation and he waves up at Honda, nodding in approval.  He tries to ignore the way his chest warms at the small smile which blooms on his charge’s face as the young man quickly turns and hastily makes his descent.

“Such innocence,” comments Long Hair with a wistful smile.

“Innocence is nothing but a word in these times.  Coddling the Apple will do you no good.  He is a man after all.”

“A man fit for combat. A man designed to fight. The Apple is the perfect weapon needed in this time of need.”

“He can’t fight,” hisses Abel. “He will not fight.”

“Stupid decision,” Long Hair sighs.

“Stupid mistake,” Thick Brows spits.

“God dammit–” Abel whips his head around to face them but they were both nowhere to be seen.  Like the previous two encounters, they had vanished into thin air.  Disgruntled, Abel clicks his tongue in irritation and spits to the ground.

“Mister Offermans.” Honda appears by his side.  There is a look of concern on his face as he glances around them, obviously seeking out the gentlemen. “They’ve left,” he observes, sounding a little disappointed.

“Yeah, well,” Abel grunts, reaching in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes only to remember that he had run out.  His brows furrowed in displeasure when his fingers curl against empty sweet wrappers.  “You saw where they went?” he asks instead.

Honda shakes his heads. “No. I’m sorry,” he replies.  He walks up to Abel and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the sleeve of his robes, tapping one stick out.  “I should have paid close attention,” he adds as he slips the cigarette in between Abel’s lips, which he parts obligingly. “I’m supposed to be useful to you, aren’t I?”

Abel raises his brow as he looks down at Honda from the slope of his nose.  “You are. You get me my money,” he murmurs.  His eyes follow Honda as the young man reaches into the pocket of his vest and fishes out a lighter.  A flick of a thumb sparks a flame and Honda raises the lighter up to the end of his cigarette, lighting it. “And my cigarettes,” Abel adds with a small smirk.  “Necessities that a simple man like me only needs.”

Honda’s eyes flick up to meet his gaze and Abel is fascinated by how the orange embers of the flame dances in his brown eyes. “Smoking isn’t good for you, you know.  You’ll develop lung cancer,” Honda states, to which Abel snorts.

“Cancer huh.  Been smoking all my life and you still see me standing, no?”

“Yes but you’ll die a premature death if you keep up that habit. I don’t think I’d like to be the one dragging my dead escort to our destination.”

“That’d be something, wouldn’t it? You dragging me out of Eden. You sure your arms aren’t going to break when you try to lift me?”

Honda’s lips quirked up in amusement and the lighter snaps shut, the flame extinguished between them. “I can work out the physics.  I read about them a few days ago, back when we met those two gentleman.  One of them was kind to lend me his book.”

“Oh yeah? Long Hair, was it?”

“No. It was the other man. Mister Kirkland. He’s a very intelligent person.”

“So he says, being the volatile shitbag he is,” comments Abel.  _So they really are trying to get close to Honda,_ he thinks.  Truthfully, the thought makes him feel a little unsettled and he reaches up to enclose his hand around Honda’s in an attempt to pry the nimble fingers apart in order to retrieve his lighter.  Honda’s clasp tightens around it.  Puzzled, Abel shifts his attention from their hands to Honda’s thin lips, his turn-up nose, his slanted eyes.

Their gazes connect. 

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to drag a dead you around,” Honda replies. “I think I’d like to hold on to this.”

They stare at each other with their fingers still laced around the lighter.

“You won’t,” says Abel and at the unconvinced look Honda gives him, he adds, “What makes you think I’m going to die early?”

“Well. There isn’t any room for choice once you’ve played fate’s card.  I don’t want to lose my chance of getting out of Eden because of your mistake.”   Honda’s tongue snakes out to lick his bottom lip.  He’s been doing that a lot lately, Abel notices.

“You sound like those circus freaks.”

“They speak reasonably.”

Abel purses his lips around his cigarette and slowly, he pries the lighter from Honda’s fingers.  “As far as reasonable goes for a pair of crackpots like ‘em,” he supplies, pocketing it.

“Are they unsavoury to you?” Honda asks.

“Unsavoury?” _What a weird choice of a word._ “Yeah, you could say that.  Those tools can go and burn in hell for all I care. I don’t really give a shit.”

“Tools?”

“…never mind. See you got some money there. How much did you snag?” Abel observes with a nod to which Honda beams with a small swell of pride.

“Ah, yes.  I was able to open a safe that was full of money.  It wasn’t too difficult to crack into since it was just a standard safe.  There was a lot of money inside and I wasn’t sure how much I should take, so…” Honda trails off as usual and it was then Abel realises how quickly he was getting used to the young man’s weird speech mannerisms.  He thinks back to the time when they’d first been acquainted in The Tree and how he had wasted a lot of time just waiting for the completion of sentences which never really happened because Honda, although speaking English, had blended some of his weird ass Oriental speech patterns in his articulations.  Not that it was incomprehensible.  It was just weird.

Abel grunts in approval.  Puffing his cigarette, he slips his shotgun into its holster before he relieves the purse from Honda.  Little bastard took the whole amount it seems – good on him.  He turns on his heel and makes his way down the steps.

“Um.”                                                                                                                                     

Abel glances over his shoulder and sees Honda following after him slowly, looking slightly troubled. “Something on your mind?”

“Mister Offermans. About the two gentlemen? Um, do you think that perhaps…I think I might be silly for assuming but…” Honda’s shoulders were tense as he stops beside him.  “Do you think they’re–”

Abel raises his free hand and he gives a small pat on the young man’s head, sifting his fingers through his smooth – _Christ, do all Orientals naturally possess such girly silkiness?_ –hair.  “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles reassuringly. “Whatever they’re up to, I won’t let’m take you back.  Not without a fight.”

Honda seems a little relieved upon hearing this and he allows Abel to cart his long, battle-weary fingers across his scalp.  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he says timidly before he turns his head to the side slightly and lifts his chin.  The tip of his nose bumps against Abel’s forearm and it traces the old scars there. “Thank you,” he adds gratefully and Abel once again ignores the small twinge in his chest.  He curls his fingers into Honda’s hair.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s my job, Honda.”


End file.
